Memoir of a Country Road (by Roger Baker)

Songbird

My friend Elizabeth found an injured bird yesterday, a European Starling, and took it in. Many people think of Starlings as junk birds. I know of farmers who pay boys to kill as many as they can. But Elizabeth took it in. She fed it, watered it, and wrapped it in cloth. Elizabeth named it Songbird. She sang to Songbird, and, as she sang, Songbird fluffed its feathers and watched her. She placed Songbird on a bed of straw, but the bird kept trying to come to her as she sang. “I held him as he took his last breath,” Elizabeth sadly recounted. “I hope he understood that some of us humans care.” She buried Songbird in the yard today, on the Sabbath. “Songbird deserved a burial,” she said. Elizabeth’s caring heart touched mine, and I wrote this poem, near midnight.